


Revolutionaries in King Arthur's Court

by Nemainofthewater



Category: Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crossover, Gen, don't take this seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 11:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is brought before the King. Yet again. Merlin's secrets are revealed, and Gwaine tries to protect him (and fails miserably).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revolutionaries in King Arthur's Court

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't to be taken seriously. It was just a bit of fun...

The bound figure looked up toward King Arthur defiantly. Despite being dressed in Camelot red, he owed no allegiance to the monarchy who Oppressed the   
People (it was always important to remember to spread capital letters through one’s dialogue, as R could tell you) and who savagely executed those who were born differently. 

 

He was one man who took a stand against the Oppression and Injustice of the land, who spoke for those underneath the notice of the nobles, who fought for those who weren’t able to fight.

 

His golden hair was a halo of light around his face, and any man who was pierced by his steely gaze was immediately under the impression that he could see their most intimate thoughts, and was only forbearing from broadcasting them because they were boring, inane thoughts.

 

Arthur, when faced with this cerulean gaze, did nothing but sigh, and start massaging his temples. He had a feeling that before long yet another raging headache would erupt.

 

“Lord Enjolras,” he started wearily.

 

“Citizen.”

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

“Citizen Enjolras. For I completely reject a title which has been awarded to me not because of my deeds, but because of a mere accident of birth. I am no higher than the other citizens of Camelot, for all men are born equal.”

 

There was a definite headache now, threatening to expand into a full blown migraine. Arthur couldn’t help but remember the disastrous knighting ceremony last year, in which Enjolras had refused his spurs, and led a group of his friends in a protest against knighthood only being open to nobles.

 

“Fine, Enjolras,” there was no way he was calling him citizen, but he really didn’t feel like hearing another lecture on equality, so he didn’t use any if his myriad titles either, “Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

 

It probably wasn’t the wisest thing to say, as Enjolras always had a hundred things to say. Unfortunately since they had nothing to do with his defence and everything to do with the subjugation of the People, he wasn’t always allowed to finish his speeches.

 

(Arthur had tried waiting him out once, and had still been sat there four hours later without any visible end in sight. Needless to say, once the twenty minute mark was hit he stopped him speaking regardless of what he was actually saying.)

 

Arthur had been in this position at least once weekly, frequently more, ever since he was crowned and he was getting tired of it.

 

All had been peaceful in Camelot, he recalled with some fondness, until Enjolras had reached the point in his education where his tutors had started talking about Athens, and democracy. Since then, there hadn’t been any peace at all.

 

(He shuddered to think of the year he had reached recent history, and thus the Great Purge. There had been an explosion the likes of which Camelot had never entirely recovered from.)

 

He had stopped attending feasts and training sessions, and instead had spent days holed up in the library, his quill writing furiously. That had been fine to a certain extent (although expensive. Did he think that parchment grew on trees?) but the trouble had started when he had started visiting all the servants in the castle and asking them about wages.

 

He had started frequenting the lower town, and making grand speeches about liberty, equality and fraternity.

 

What was worse was that he found a group of like-minded friends, all of them nobles.

 

(Apart from one fan-maker, but Arthur didn’t know his name, or him at all. If Enjolras was privy to this, he would triumphantly point this out as an example of elitism.)

 

They would spend all their time debating in one of the calmer taverns (Arthur to his great disappointment hadn’t managed to find out which one yet) writing simple pamphlets and aiding sorcerer’s escapes.

 

(Arthur officially didn’t know about that, and he would continue to turn a blind eye so long as the sorcerers hadn’t caused any trouble.)

 

There was a pause in Enjolras’ speech, and Arthur raised a hand. He expected that it wouldn’t have been heeded if the other man hadn’t wanted to refute whatever argument Arthur came up with.

 

“Enjolras, you must understand that if you continue your activities you will be punished. The only reason you haven’t yet been thrown in jail is that you’re my cousin.”

 

Oops. That might not have been the best thing to say….

 

“Yes!” declaimed Enjolras joyfully, “Throw me in prison! Execute me! I don’t fear lying my life down for the cause! You will martyr me and the people will rise up!   
Do you hear the people sing?”

 

Arthur blinked, and then listened closely.

 

“No, I can’t say that I do. But would I really be able to hear them from the castle? They’d have to be very near for the noise to penetrate the stone walls. And don’t they have better things to do than form a choir, like maybe work?”

 

Enjolras pointed at him triumphantly.

 

(He had somehow got free of his bonds during the last few minutes. Arthur didn't question it; this seemed to happen with alarming regularity.)

 

“Then you admit that your regime is an unjust one, and that the lower classes are consigned to a lifetime of hard labour because of their birth?”

 

Arthur knew that he wouldn’t win this (just like he hadn’t won the twenty or so previous attempts at talking him around) and made an impatient hand gesture at the guard.

 

(He never bothered to learn their names. Either they were evil, and would betray him, or they would be the first ones to die in the next magical attack on Camelot.)

 

“Just, don’t do it again for at least a week, yes? I know that you’ll need at least that long to prepare another protest, and I can’t handle two reprimands in one week.”

 

“The voice of the People will not be silenced!”

 

Of course he wouldn’t listen. 

 

“Merlin,” Arthur called, “Go and get one of his friends, preferably Combeferre, to talk some sense into him. Tell him I don’t want to see Enjolras in my throne room for at least a week.”

 

Enjolras had meanwhile escaped from the guard’s grasp (a laughably easy task) and was standing on a table.

 

(Arthur wasn’t quite sure where the table had come from, but he was willing to overlook that so long as he got his nice empty throne room back soon.)

 

“…you discriminate against those who are blessed with gifts that could benefit the country! If you looked past you narrow minded views, and embraced the diversity present in this great and, we could usher in a new era of peace and prosperity! Where men are treated as equals regardless of birth. Take Merlin for example.” 

 

“What?!” squeaked Merlin nervously (although he would later deny the squeaking).

 

“I, er, I don’t know anything about magic, why would you think that I was a sorcerer?”

 

Enjolras continued, oblivious to what his Symbol of Oppression was saying.

 

“He has stood by you for years, has accompanied you on you quests, has saved your life several times, and what is his reward? He is treated like dirt by the very people he’s saved, and condemned to a day in the stocks whenever you feel like entertainment!”

 

“I really don’t mind,” said Merlin.

 

He was ignored.

 

Arthur leaned back against his (uncomfortable) throne and sighed. There went another day.

 

“I’m definitely not a sorcerer!” said Merlin.

 

Later, in the Musain tavern, Enjolras looked up from where he was discussing education with Combeferre.

 

There was a slightly ragged looking man glaring down at him. Enjolras dimly recognised him as Gwaine (mostly because he was Grantaire’s favourite drinking buddy, and he had been forced to listen to several bawdy drinking songs originating from their table during meetings).

 

“Listen, I appreciate that you’re trying to help the ‘oppressed’”, he said, and despite slurring his words, he seemed remarkably lucid, “But you can’t go around dragging Merlin into it. Although I agree with you that Arthur is a giant prat, and that Merlin hasn’t exactly been subtle about using his magic,” on the last word he lowered his voice, and looked around suspiciously, “But it’s his choice if he wants to reveal his gifts. You do him a disservice by taking this small liberty away from him.”

 

(Even if someone had overheard Gwaine, it wouldn’t have mattered. Of course Merlin had magic; if he hadn’t wanted the townspeople to know, he would have been a bit more covert about using it.)

 

“I would never compromise the few liberties that are left to the citizens of this country without good cause,” replied Enjolras automatically.

 

And then…

 

Realisation struck him like a thunderbolt on high.

 

“Merlin has magic?” he gasped.

 

“Wow,” said Gwaine, “Obliviousness really does run in the family.”


End file.
